Habits and Nightmares
by CenterForInsanity
Summary: Two old friends meet in the middle of the night when neither can sleep. Zinc learns something about habits and Flint learns something about nightmares.


Summary: Two old friends meet in the middle of the night when neither can sleep. Zinc learns something about habits and Flint learns something about nightmares. Rated for Flint's repulsive mouth.

Zinc doesn't sleep. Okay, so that was a lie. Zinc doesn't sleep _much_. That seemed more appropriate. This simple fact made it a normal thing for him to be sitting in the kitchen at three A.M. with a cup of warm milk and a sullen look adorning his bony features. By now he was used to not sleeping well, but he had gotten even less sleep the last few days.

Nightmares had become as commonplace as his insomnia, but he was never prepared for what they brought with them. Each night the horror would resume and he would wake, shivering and sweating, his arms and legs curled around him as if he could somehow make the terrors pass over him if he made himself small enough. His friends would attempt to help ease the fears, but they couldn't fully comprehend, they didn't realize that those nightmares were the reason he twitched whenever he became nervous, why he flinched at every little thing, why he believed in so many stupid things that could hurt him. It was all because of those damn nightmares. He shook his head, attempting to clear the images that kept him awake from his mind.

"Stop twitching, Nutty," a deep voice said behind him, making him jump and let out a yelp of surprise. "Christ, you're makin' me nervous."

Flint walked past the ridiculously thin scientist to the coffee machine, pouring himself a cup of the blackened sludge Laguna called coffee. Why they ever let the hobo make anything they would ingest was still not fully understood. Flint began hunting through the refrigerator for creamer, cussing when he found none. The metal-winged vampire slammed the refrigerator door closed and made his way to sit beside Zinc, muttering under his breath about women not buying groceries like they should. Zinc began unconsciously fidgeting with his glass of milk.

"U-um," Zinc stuttered. "Why are you up?"

Flint stared down at his coffee, his normally sarcastic look substituted with some dark emotion Zinc couldn't place.

"None of your fuckin' business."

Zinc couldn't help but flinch. It wasn't the harsh words, he was used to the crude behavior of his friend by now, but the quiet, dangerous edge those words carried as they left the vampire's mouth. The metal-winged creature took a swig of his coffee.

"Th-that will make it harder to sleep…" Zinc offered pathetically.

"Fuck if I care," Flint spat. "Not like I really want to sleep right now." He reached into his black cotton pajama pants and pulled out a rectangular carton and a lighter. Zinc watched in horror as Flint brought a cigarette to his lips and lit up.

"What are you doing?" He nearly shouted, then covered his mouth, waiting for a few moments with baited breath until he was sure he hadn't woken anyone up. "You'll give yourself cancer," he hissed in the dim light from over the sink. Flint shrugged.

"Again, fuck if I care."

There were several moments of silence where Zinc twitched nervously and Flint smoked and drank his coffee-sludge. Right when the tension was beginning to become physically painful for Zinc, Flint spoke, making the scientist jump again.

"Hey, Nutty," the vampire's voice was quiet, darkened but without its usually biting undertone. "How do you deal with them?"

Zinc gave his friend a quizzical look. "Deal with what?" Flint rolled his eyes.

"The nightmares, dumbass."

Zinc looked down, his hands wringing the bottom of his t-shirt into a stretched-out mess. He didn't like talking about his nightmares at all, in any context, in any sense. Most times, he just wanted to forget them. In reality, he just ran from them, hiding from the fear they brought to him. He let a single bitter laugh escape him.

"I don't, really," he admitted. Flint was somewhat surprised by the frankness of Zinc at that moment. He took another drag.

"So what? You just don't sleep or what?"

Zinc stared at his hands, thinking. No, maybe he had lied. Maybe he did have some way of dealing with it. Slowly, his hands began to relax and he felt a pang of hurt go through his knuckles from how hard he had clenched them. Each finger straightened itself out with slow precision and then Zinc turned them palm-up to look at them, examine them.

"I play the piano," he finally said. "It helps me think, helps me forget." He paused and frowned. "Mostly forget."

Flint nodded, but said nothing and flicked the butt of his cigarette across the kitchen into the sink before lighting another one. Zinc watched silently for a moment.

"Since when do you smoke?" He asked hesitantly. Flint had yet to look at him.

"Since I started having your fucking problems," he lied. Zinc just sat there, looking at him with a concerned light in his eyes. Flint could feel it, his friend's gaze. How could Zinc be so damn young compared to him and figure out when to be honestly concerned for them vampire? He sighed. "Since I started having nightmares about my surgery."

Zinc nodded in understanding, turning white from the thought. Flint didn't need to expound. The surgery to implant metal wings in the vampire's back had not only been terribly painful, but the people doing the procedure had over-estimated the pain tolerance of the immortal creature and had done the entire thing without anesthetic. Zinc had only ever heard Flint mention it once or twice before as an explanation to King Malcolm, but even then he had simply rattled of the words as quickly and as clipped as Zinc had ever heard a person speak and still be intelligible. He had never bothered to press the subject further with Flint. And he wouldn't now.

"And what about you?" Flint suddenly spoke after another prolonged silence. "What keeps you up until the ungodly hours of the night?"

Zinc blinked a few times, the images in his mind bubbling up out of the sewage to haunt him.

"Nightmares," he said, "about losing people." Flint sat, mulling over the new information.

"Are they important? The people in your nightmares."

"To me they are."

"Let me guess, Polly's one." Flint held up one finger. Zinc nodded and felt himself blush. "Dr. 'Death' Qubert is another." A nod. "King Malcolm." Nod. "Little Miss Witchy and probably even Laguna is in there." Another nod. Flint looked intently at his open hand, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth was set in a calculating, determined line. Finally, he closed the hand save for one finger. "…me."

Zinc nodded. Flint looked at the finger he held up for a long moment. Moments ticked by, then, to Zinc's confusion, he stood and threw his half-smoked cigarette into his cup of coffee.

"Come on, Nutty," he said, hunting for his wallet. "We're going to the store. Need a fuckin' piano." Zinc blinked and then his eyes went wide.

"Flint?"

"Don't," he said in his normal biting tone. "And if you say anything to anyone, I'll kill you in your sleep."

Zinc stood from his spot at the kitchen counter and for the first time in a while, he smiled.


End file.
